Shell Shocked
by Cranbeary
Summary: You would always see damaged heroes on the television, wondering how something so terrible could happen, or if the same could befall yourself. In the end you convince yourself it's impossible, but what if years down the line, you're suddenly the soldier with all the tragedy and none of the heroism? One-shot, Mouse Ka-Boom centric.
Un.

Small, light droplets of rain pattered on the jungle floor, forming shallow puddles in the mud and pools in the dips of leaves. Boots sunk slightly into the sodden terrain as a small soldier trekked through the undergrowth, a large backpack on his shoulders. Red tinted goggles pulled snugly over his amber eyes offered protection from the weather so he could better focus on the task at hand. Being the only explosives expert on his team definitely weighed on his shoulders, but he remained level headed. Mistakes caused by frayed nerves could be fatal.

Deux.

He listened intently to the sounds of the dense jungle around him, ever searching for the slightest hint of an ambush. He was so young—the soldier nearest his age was two years older—and yet so much depended on his ability to successfully plant the bomb and escape the building within two minutes. Mouse Ka-Boom shook his head, focusing his attention again on the task before him. There was no room for worry.

Trois.

His mind drifted to his friend Sneaky, a human "chameleon" with the height of a tree. Their path split quite a while back, but he couldn't help but wonder if the other had reached his destination yet. Mouse knew he would've traveled quickly after being allowed to go his own way, considering he didn't have much to carry in comparison to his own load. Whenever his comrades commented on how difficult it was to lift his backpack, he felt empowered. There isn't much expected of you when you're barely over five feet tall.

Quatre.

As he emerges from the dripping foliage, cold water splashes into his hair and face. It quickly becomes warm due to his own body heat. He notes with pleasure the absence of a guard at the entrance. Sneaky had cleaned up rather nicely this time, leaving not even a stain of blood darkening the grass. Mouse hardly reacts as a heavy hand reaches out and touches his shoulder from behind. Before he turns around, he can already guess who it is. Just as he expected, his friend quickly dispatched the rest of the outside perimeter's guards. Sweat and rain glisten on the soldier's forehead, but enough earthy camouflage remains on his skin to allow him to disappear back into the leaves after wishing the shorter man luck and leaving parting words. "I'll wait for you back at camp. Go get 'em, tiger."

Cinq.

Mud smears against rough gray pavement as Mouse sprints into the building and hides. If he couldn't get in and out within ten minutes, the mission would be a bust. His eyes dart towards the watch strapped securely to his left wrist. The seconds were ticking by quickly, the long, thin metal hand gliding smoothly around the clock's face. There wasn't a single second to waste. He ventured deeper into the building, mentally chanting the specific route he was instructed to take. It was poorly guarded, but it would be wise to stay alert.

Six.

Were those footsteps he heard? Surely somebody couldn't be tailing him? Mouse attributed the thought to merely anxiety and continued on his way, bearing in mind he would be coming upon the base's core soon. His time to shine. As he rounded the corner, his vision briefly became nothing but a dark smudge, causing him to stagger. Covering his mouth to muffle his breathing, he reflected on the moment while his breath steadied. He'd never been so overcome by nerves before. Surely this couldn't be a bad omen?

Sept.

Finally, he was here. Some heavy equipment was pushed up against the wall, but the soldier ignored it and headed for the nearest support beam. Strategically placed bombs could collapse a majority of the building within a moment's notice. He worked quickly, frantically attaching the explosives to the walls and configuring the detonation time. Seven minutes. That would be enough. Without a second thought, Mouse headed back the way he came, this time with more urgency. Being caught too close to the blast would result in pain he wasn't eager to bear.

Huit.

Before he can reach the open exit, he's blocked by two enemy soldiers. They look up from damp tracks, starkly contrasted against the concrete. The realization dawns upon Ka-Boom as he hesitantly traces the trail with his wide eyes. It follows his path perfectly, his most recent footsteps only leaving the faintest of marks. Regret and despair numb his senses, his limbs sluggish as he struggles to find cover before they inevitably begin shooting. Just as they begin firing off several rounds in his direction, he's able to dive under a table. Shaking hands struggle to rip open his bag and draw out a grenade. His fingers waver and sweat is coating his palms, but he's able to rip out the pin. Without skipping a beat, he pops up from the table and lobs it over to them. His levelheaded self is beginning to reassemble. There are less than two minutes left.

Neuf.

Immediately after the grenade explodes, sending deadly shards of metal every which way, he decides to run. Both enemy soldiers are lying on the ground. He sprints towards freedom, aiming to jump over the bloodied bodies. Before his feet can make contact with the ground, a hand shoots up and grabs his ankle. Mouse falls to the floor, flailing to get back on his feet. Time is quickly running out. The injured soldier holding him with a vice grip smiled, though it was obvious to Mouse this man would have a difficult life if he survived after the war. He could see a dark purple stain located in the lower part of his back on the other's uniform from the grenade. One of his vertebrae was likely shattered, paralyzing him from the waist down. The heel of Ka-Boom's boot harshly connected with the soldier's fingers, and a twinge of pity tugged at his heart. The feeling of thin bones crunching under his foot would haunt him forever, but his ankle was free and escape brushes against his outstretched fingertips as he stumbles towards the open exit.

Dix.

He knows he ran out of time. The confrontation had taken up the precious minutes he could've used to run at least two hundred meters away, but as the countdown ended, he was barely out of the doorway. It's not nearly far enough away from the blast zone, and the force of the explosion is felt in every inch of his body. Scorching hot air propels him forward, momentum barreling him into the dense underbrush. Sharp twigs catch on his clothes,hair, and exposed skin. His backpack breaks some of the fall, but even past the numbness provided by shock and what likely could have been a broken bone or two, he can feel his scrapes dully stinging. Later they would surely limit his mobility. A tense hand gingerly touches his temple, eyes shut tightly as a splitting headache drowns out all thought. Then as his hand slowly trails down his cheek he can feel something warm and wet between his fingers. With great effort he brings his hand before his face, and in his blurry vision he can make out a huge smear of blood. Panic settles on his shoulders like a great buzzard, talons digging deep into his shoulders, refusing to let go.

Zéro.

He focuses on his surroundings, waiting for something—anything—that would save him from his mounting fear. He couldn't hear the rubble settling. He couldn't hear the rain anymore, even though cold droplets still sprinkled his skin. He shakily holds himself up on one arm, fumbling fingers struggling to produce a good 'snap' next to his ear. Nothing. He lowers himself back down, forehead resting on his sodden sleeves as he stares listlessly at the dark soil. He shifts onto his side and tucks his knees to his chest, needing some security after losing what he'd depended on so much before. His heavy communicator is lying in the mud about a foot away, having fallen out of his pack earlier. He reaches out with a heavy arm to grasp it and cradles it close to his mouth, both thumbs ready to press the button when he's prepared to speak.

Zéro.

He can't find the words. They're trapped at the back of his throat and dying down as he ponders if he could speak without hearing. He has no idea how life would be in the future. Still, he presses down on that button and when he finally is able to make a sound, it's only a hoarse whimper. He tries again, managing a choked sob this time, and tears begin to flow freely as he mumbles like a broken record, "Help. I can't hear. Somebody please help me…" _Is anybody there?_

Zéro.

It feels like eons before a familiar face finally slides his backpack off and rolls him onto his back. A moistened towel gently runs across his forehead before providing cooling relief to his flushed cheeks. His eyes are raw and tired from crying, and his muscles protested against too much movement, both from the burning pain of his scratches, which were now assaulting him at full force, and from remaining tensed in the same position for so long. Mouse willed himself to release his radio and take loose hold of Sneaky's arm in order to get the older man to stop once his vision fully focused. Flippy shuffled about several feet behind Sneaky, occasionally handing over items from a first aid kit. They're all alive, and the mission was complete, though not as perfectly as they'd hoped.

Zéro.

Mouse watches Sneaky's lips move, forming silent words he can't comprehend. They've been attempting to teach him how to read lips, but so far their efforts have been fruitless. On the other hand, he showed a talent for sign language, having already learned how to form complex statements. Even as his friends continue to smile, and he's sure they're also laughing, with him, some nights Mouse still feels bitterness gnawing at his heart. It could be worse. It could always be worse. However, he feels as though it could have been avoided, and his hearing was not a necessary price to pay for a meager victory. Orange curls softly frame his round face as he lies down for the night, his splinted arm draped across his stomach and still softly snapping his fingers beside his ear.

Zéro.

"Je suis tellement stupide."

* * *

A/N: This is a little side drabble I've been using to get some writing muse back, and I think it worked a little? Anyways, I've always been a fan of the W.A.R. Journal squad in general, and seeing as how unlikely it is that the KA-POW! Series will continue or ever really address how Mouse Ka-Boom became deaf, I thought I should write a story about what might have happened. Some important things you might need to know about my personal head canons are: Mouse became deaf at eighteen, he joined the army when he was sixteen, and he's always been calm and collected, so it's very rare for him to have a breakdown. Since this is all his POV and such, I couldn't elaborate on how it affects Sneaky and Flippy, but maybe another day. I just hope you enjoyed my story.

Also, to anyone curious, Sunny Side Up will not continue as it is, but there is a rewrite in progress. Slow progress. Inspiration for this story is Philip Hamilton as portrayed in the Broadway musical _Hamilton_.

Next, I might do a service to the fandom and introduce you all to the wonderful world of SneakyxMouse.


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